


Nightmares

by BefuddledTheatreKid



Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015), And Then There Were None - Christie
Genre: AU where both live, Children, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BefuddledTheatreKid/pseuds/BefuddledTheatreKid
Summary: Vera and Philip both live, and end up married with children. All these years later, Vera still gets nightmares about the events on Soldier Island.
Relationships: Vera Claythorne/Philip Lombard
Kudos: 36





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> I've never really written fanfiction before, so be nice! There's no real plot, idk I think it's ok. Please read and review!

Wargrave’s cruel, calculating eyes stare at her. He grabs her hand, and his hand is as cold as a dead mans. He should be dead. And she should be dead. She walks on shaking legs towards the noose he set up. Climbing onto the chair and slipping her head into the rope feels right. She must pay for her crimes. She readies herself to kick the chair away, but all of a sudden there is a gunshot, and Wargrave crumples to the ground. Lombard stands, his face pale, but the arm holding the revolver is steady. His left hand grips his right shoulder, and she can see the blood on his hand. She shot him, she thought he was dead. And now he’s saved her life. They know who Mr. Unknown Owen is, but all too late. Eight have died. And he may die too, if he doesn’t get help. His bloody finger points shakily at Vera. 

“This is your fault.” he whispers in a gravelly voice, then falls to the floor. 

“No!” Vera shouts, “No, no, don’t leave me alone here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Vera wakes with a start, writhing in the sheets. She’s sweat through her pajamas and can’t stop panting. All these years later, she still has nightmares. She casts a look sideways, where Philip is sleeping peacefully, untroubled by demons of the past. 

“It didn’t happen like that.” she reassures herself. “He lived. It’s not your fault.” But she can’t bring herself to believe it. She met the friends and family of the dead, and knew they all hated her for being the one to survive. Anthony Marston had a girlfriend. Thomas and Ethel Rogers had a son. John Gordon Macarthur had loyal friends. Emily Brent had a loving sister. Edward Armstrong had a mother, a war widow. William Henry Blore had grandparents depending on him. They were so much more than their crimes. In a way, it would have been better if she died. She had no one left to mourn her. 

But now she had Philip, darling Philip, who never left her side. He instantly forgave her for shooting him, and she owed her life to him. They sat together in a house containing eight dead bodies, and she cried into his shoulder, and he didn’t let go. He held her hand on the boat ride back, and protested fiercely when they were ripped apart for questioning. And when it was all over, he promised to be with her. Always.

He kept that promise well. Five years after the events on Soldier Island, they were married with three wonderful children. Roger, three and a half, Jonathan, just over a year, and Emilia, still an infant. Vera named them, and Philip pretends he doesn’t know the significance of the names. 

“Oh, I had a great-uncle named Roger.” Vera said lightly the day their first son was born. “A dear family friend named Jonathan, died in the war. I think Emilia is such a pretty name, don’t you?”

But in reality, the names carry a dark and heavy meaning. Their children are named for the dead, the ones Vera hates herself for not saving. 

Mr. and Mrs. Rogers may have killed Jennifer Brady, but they were good people at heart. They were devoted servants and did their jobs admirably. They were born into a world where everything was against them, and they did everything to provide for their son, even if they had to break the law. The name Roger was only fitting, it was the promise Vera and Philip Lombard made to their son. To protect him. Always. 

Jonathan was for the general, who accepted his fate and greeted death with open arms. The way Vera almost did. She had never loved anyone the way she loved Philip, and finally realized why the general sent Richmond to his death. She learned the power being in love has over you. She loved Philip with all her heart, and they shared that love with their children. She wanted to shelter them, so they would never have to learn the heartbreak of the real world.

All Vera wanted was a little girl, and her wish was granted in Emilia. Only seven weeks old, she was tiny and fragile and perfect. Vera vowed to let her little girl grow up happy and free, not oppressed the way Emily Brent was. Parents can’t control what their children grow up to be, all they can do is provide a good, nurturing life. 

“I lived.” Vera tells herself fiercely. “The world threw its worst at me, with some help from Mr. Owen. But I lived.” 

“Mama! Help me! It’s got me!” Little Roger was shrieking for Vera. He’d been having recurring nightmares about a monster chasing him, and Vera understood all too well the pain of a nightmare. She rushed out of bed to help her son.


End file.
